


This Perfect Red

by coruscates



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: And love, Angst, Anxiety Issues, Ballet AU, Dark Modern Fairytale, Drama, Eros Katsuki Yuuri, Eventual Happy Ending, Fluff, M/M, Magic Shoes, Multi, Panic Attacks, Perfectionism, Psychological Thriller, Read with care guys, Slight Non-Con Elements, Slight horror, The Red Shoes Modern AU, There will still be fluffy parts here don't worry, Vicchan Lives, like real slight, lots of love, split personality
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-02
Updated: 2018-12-02
Packaged: 2019-09-02 23:38:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,778
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16796989
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coruscates/pseuds/coruscates
Summary: All Yuuri could hear was the quick tempo of his heart threatening to beat out of his ribcage, the quick movement of air to and from his chest tiring out his overexerted lungs and the idle clicks of a pen nursed by a prettily manicured hand, a sign of boredom and most likely disappointment.“That would be all, Katsuki.”The eyes on him were cold and calculating, judging each miniscule movement that spilled forth from Yuuri’s body.Yuuri quickly snapped his gaze somewhere else, somewhere less exposing, less terrifying.It was a mistake.Without thinking, he turned on his heel, letting his feet carry him somewhere safe,safe,safe.And as he ran and ran, all he heard was the echoes of footsteps, as if answering the sound of his shoes meeting the asphalt, as if chasing him until he could no longer run.





	This Perfect Red

**Author's Note:**

> So, this fic is my baby. And I hope you all enjoy it. This was supposed to be for a bang but due to life WELP.

_“Hm…”_

_All Yuuri could hear was the quick tempo of his heart threatening to beat out of his ribcage, the quick movement of air to and from his chest tiring out his overexerted lungs and the idle clicks of a pen nursed by a prettily manicured hand, a sign of boredom and most likely disappointment._

_“That would be all, Katsuki.”_

_The eyes on him were cold and calculating, judging each miniscule movement that spilled forth from Yuuri’s body. A pair of green ones looked at him with feigned boredom, a certain sharpness piercing from their depths as if challenging Yuuri to move just a bit incorrectly just so an equally sharp comment could strike right through him, ending him right then and there._

_Yuuri quickly snapped his gaze somewhere else, somewhere less exposing, less terrifying._

_It was a mistake._

_He was greeted by the sight of intense blues raking over his body with utmost scrutiny before resting on his face, their owner staring at Yuuri whilst deep in thought. It was as if the man was trying to engrave Yuuri’s existence into his thoughts, picking at every tiny little flaw he saw present until there was none of Yuuri left. Yuuri felt stark naked just from merely standing under his gaze._

_It made Yuuri shiver. His anxiety spread from his mind like wildfire._

_Even as Yuuri started to feel his fingers fidget in distress, he pulled on a straight face, trying to conceal the nervousness twisting his stomach into knots. His shaking hands, however, betrayed the emotions swirling inside him, prompting Yuuri to clutch at his pants as he made his way outside of the studio, head trained to the ground._

_He hurried to the nearest restroom, his footsteps sounding over the tiles in the room’s emptiness. He quickly made his way into farthest cubicle, opening it and closing it with a light slam._

_As soon as he locked himself inside, Yuuri heaved out a long sigh, sliding down the cubicle door as he curled into himself, burying his face into his knees._

_‘I messed up. I messed everything up.’ Tears gathered at the corners of his eyes. ‘They just gave me a short choreography but I ruined it. I ruined it.’_

_Yuuri replayed everything in his head, the way he spun clumsily, and the way slipped at the final step. It frustrated Yuuri to no end. He had his chance to finally shine in one of the Bolshoi’s productions (an original one at that) and just blew it, shot himself in the foot as he danced._

_‘I’m just not ‘Eros’ enough.’ Yuuri wrapped his arms around himself, a feeble attempt at comfort. ‘I know I’m not. It’s just not me. Some danseur I am.’_

_It would be such a fluke if he were even casted in it._

_And that’s how Yuuri spent that night, crying to himself, curled up inside a bathroom stall with only the sound of dripping water keeping him company._

_“Yuuri!! YUURI! Oh my god, you have to see this!”_

_The week’s end arrived in a blur, time moving so unforgivably fast that Yuuri failed to prepare himself enough for what’s to come._

_“…Phichit, I think it’s best I don’t really. I’ll just try again next time—“_

_“No, no! Yuuri, you don’t understand! You’re amazing, okay? And don’t you dare talk down on yourself when I know how hard you’ve worked and how beautiful you dance. My best friend didn’t become a danseur for nothing.” Before Yuuri could even head over to another direction, Phichit pulled him by wrist bringing him face to face with what he has been determinedly avoiding all morning._

_Yuuri closed his eyes before he could even glance._

_“Yuuri, I know how much this means to you but I assure you, this won’t break your heart. Trust me, okay?” Phichit urged him gently, patting Yuuri’s shoulder in comfort._

_Yuuri reluctantly relaxed himself, slowly opening his eyes, the dread slowly easing back into his system as he braced himself for the results._

_As soon as the results dawned on him, Yuuri could only stare at the paper in shock, mouth agape and eyes wide._

_“Congratulations, Yuuri!”_

* * *

It has almost been a week since rehearsals for _Eros_ had begun, the company had been steadily working towards a glamorous opening night befitting of the Bolshoi’s reputation. This, after all, would be the first wholly creative venture the Bolshoi would partake in, everything from the music score, choreography and the like to the story and set design were carefully devised by the Bolshoi itself.

Yuuri himself couldn’t even grasp just how much planning and preparation it took for this production to actually come together, not with how he himself was busy learning the choreography for the first few songs in the ballet.

If Yuuri were to be honest though, Viktor Nikiforov, the Bolshoi’s former premier danseur now resident choreographer and director, was the main reason why this whole debacle came into fruition. The man’s arrival marked the point where the Bolshoi had finally found the spark needed to ignite their prestige to utter magnificence.

Yuuri couldn’t deny that the man himself had an aura of brilliance, a charisma so magnetic that it keeps you on your toes even for the most mundane things Viktor would do, a feeling that at any moment he could catch you off guard and make a nice place for himself in your mind and heart. He had the looks, the skills and the mind that made him one of the most renowned world famous danseurs in the past decade.

He was the gold standard every dancer looks up to.

Hell, almost everyone regards him as the standard for success and utter perfection.

He had fans around the world, admirers and critics waiting for his every move.

He was even, admittedly, a part of Yuuri’s motivation to pack up his bags and move to Russia in the first place.

Yuuri would be lying if he said that he wasn’t the least bit attracted to him.

(Yuuri, in fact, was very, very smitten by his existence. Who wouldn’t be?)

With Viktor’s rise in the Bolshoi’s ranks, his career can be considered a pivotal turning point in the Bolshoi’s history of renowned Ballet productions, that one danseur who dared to go beyond lengths to show what exactly _is_ art in dance form.

 _‘Someday…I want to be just like that.’_ A young Yuuri thought to himself as he first set foot in Russia many years before. Yuuri smiled to himself, nostalgia taking hold of his heart as he looked back from where he came from.

As the train neared his stop, Yuuri clutched his dance bag, moving himself closer to the doors. It was 8 in the morning and Yuuri needed to head over to the Bolshoi’s studio for warm ups.

In all honesty, Yuuri still couldn’t believe how things went. He hailed from a small town by the sea in Japan, moved to Tokyo after being scouted by the Tokyo Ballet and finally moved to St. Petersburg where he now dances as one of the Bolshoi’s danseurs.

It was amazing how fate essentially brought Yuuri to the last place where he thought he would be.

If anything, it was Yuuri’s luck that was to blame.

But he was still thankful for every second of it.

Deep down however, a part of him always anticipated that at some point during his stay something was bound to go wrong.

“Again, your arms were too stiff. Open them more softly as if you’re trying to flirt! No, even better, do it like you _are_ flirting.”

Yuuri’s sweat beaded at his brow as he struggled to follow Viktor’s instructions, his arms moving stiffly in a vague attempt at a flourish, a weird way of beckoning his partner to dance right into his arms.

“Stop.” Viktor shook his head at Yuuri’s attempt. “That’s just sad, Yuuri. You’re asking Mila to come into your bed at night not teaching her how to swat a fly.”

A loud snicker sounded at Viktor’s comment followed by whispers and snide giggles here and there, the low murmurs of his audience stung Yuuri’s heart, a heavy feeling set itself inside of his chest, strong enough to twist his insides in distress.

Yuuri was at a loss.

He was in no shape or form the ideal danseur for this role. His anxiety tended to gnaw at his ends whenever he danced. His feet slipping out of position at every nasty thought he entertained. His body moving stiffly at every criticism he expected to be thrown at him as he was watched.

Everything swirled sickeningly inside Yuuri’s mind and heart.

He was a nervous wreck, a sorry excuse for a danseur of the Bolshoi.

He knew getting casted in the ballet’s main role was just an accident. Yuuri’s past roles were always on the side of innocent and in the background. How could he even dream of pulling off such a contrasting role as the _playboy_?

While Yuuri had always wanted this opportunity, he couldn’t deny the fact that he wasn’t ready for it. It was foolish for him to even accept the role in the first place.

He should’ve turned it down the moment he saw it on paper.

After all, there was someone else more fitting for the part.

Someone less awkward.

Someone less anxious.

Someone less disastrous.

Someone more confident.

Someone more eyecatching.

Someone more flawless.

Someone who wasn’t _Yuuri_.

But a _vile,_ disgusting part of him urged him to take on the role.

Yuuri still detested himself for it to this day.

However, what’s done is done. Yuuri doesn’t have time to pull back. To be precise, the _Bolshoi_ doesn’t have time to pull back. They have around 2 months to prepare for Eros’ reveal to the world. He would only pulling everyone behind if he had decided to pull out a week into rehearsals even if his understudy could fill in for him.

This doesn’t erase the fact that Yuuri has been dreadfully inconsistent in rehearsals.

As he continued to try and get the feel of what Viktor was looking for, his stomach kept flipping, his chest felt tight and his muscles refused to extend. His own body frustrated him to no end. His own mind betrayed him, refusing to cooperate and allow his worn body to do what it was trained to do instead threatening Yuuri’s body to snap and ache all over.

It made all the nights where he had stayed back practicing worthless.

Sure, it had only been a week into rehearsals but even Yuuri could sense the frustration teeming beneath the atmosphere of the studio, eyes rolling whenever he made a mistake, bitter thoughts and harsh criticism rolling over in the dancers’ minds as they watched him.

“Alright, I guess that would have to do for now. We’ll work on that a bit more but for now we’ll move on to the corps’ choreography.” Viktor motioned Yuuri and Mila to take their initial positions at the beginning of the scene.

Yuuri felt that undeniable tinge of shame as he heard the words fall from the _répétiteur_ ’s mouth, a sinking feeling beginning from the top of his chest falling towards his gut.

Needless to say, it was uncomfortably _embarrassing_.

Before Yuuri could head over to the other end of the studio, a firm hand pulled him to the side putting him face to face with bright blue eyes framed by fiery red tresses.

“Yuuri…I know you’ve been nervous and all since it’s your first time.” Mila gently placed her hand on Yuuri’s shoulder. “Anyway, I just wanted to say don’t worry too much. You’ll be fine! We can still work on this, okay?”

With a cheeky smile and wink, Mila ruffled Yuuri’s hair before heading over to her position, smiling encouragingly at Yuuri as he strode towards the other end of the room to make his grand entrance as _Eros’ Javier_.

Viktor clapped to the rhythm of the song, counting the steps as he watched over the corps dancers, calling out corrections as he saw fit. After a few pirouettes from the corps, Viktor shifted his gaze to Yuuri signaling him enter.

And on the first beat of his entrance, Yuuri _tripped_ , stumbling a bit on his feet as he leaped his way to the center.

He spun around a few times before striking a pose, a vague attempt at the flare of a playboy.

As he continued to dance, he felt more and more mistakes piling up at every movement he makes. Nevertheless he soldiered on despite the clawing of his nerves from the tips of his toes to the tips of his fingers, trying to pull down every limb Yuuri dared to extend, stiffening his movements with a horrid attempt at grace and flamboyance.

Yuuri struggled to keep his eyes trained on Viktor, trying to focus on giving a pleasing performance despite the piercing blue gaze studying his every fault, every miscalculated step and every movement off beat. As Viktor’s assistant continued the counts, Viktor’s expression steadily grew somber, his brows knotting together as Yuuri danced.

Viktor’s stare stripped Yuuri bare, allowing Yuuri’s control to slip, nervousness flooding into his body in an instant.

‘I made too many mistakes.’

Yuuri made a turn.

Yuuri moved too far.

‘He knows I’m bad at this.’

He struck another pose, extending his arm toward the dancers gathered around him.

His hands were far too straight.

‘I- I have to stop before I make it even worse.’

Yuuri then started a series of pirouettes, twirling in his place.

‘I’m making it worse.’

He felt his legs tire from his unstable position.

‘I want to stop.’

“Stop!” Viktor’s stern voice cut Yuuri out of his reverie, forcing him to fall down on his knees with a loud thump.

The silence within the studio was deafening. All Yuuri could hear was the rapid beat of his heart threatening to burst out his chest and the heavy pants leaving his mouth as his lungs strained for air. No one dared to move or even breathe, the tension inside the room threatening to break as everyone waited.

Yuuri couldn’t dare look up, opting to glue his eyes to the floor as he struggled to catch his breath. He couldn’t dare look into the eyes of the man he has looked up to all this years. Tears gathered in his eyes as he allowed himself to wallow in shame.

Viktor’s footsteps sounded in the silent studio. Yuuri could hear him come closer and closer to where he sat bowed down.

Soon enough, black shoes stood right in front of Yuuri, tapping on the floor as their owner waited for Yuuri to look up.

With a gulp, Yuuri brought his gaze up, brown eyes meeting icy blues.

To his surprise, Viktor bended down, kneeling so that he was at Yuuri’s level, eyes never breaking away from Yuuri’s face.

Viktor’s expression was unreadable as he held out his hand to Yuuri, offering it for who knows what reason.

With reluctance, Yuuri places his hand in Viktor’s as Viktor pulled him up to his feet, a light blush painting his cheeks as he rose.

A beat passed before Viktor finally broke the silence.

“I hope next time I wouldn’t have to stoop down to your level, Mr. Katsuki.” Yuuri could almost hear a triumphant smirk plastering itself on a face from somewhere inside the studio. “I’m sure you are aware of what my standards are. I trust that you’ll meet them.”

Viktor smiled at Yuuri as he waited for Yuuri’s answer.

“Y-yes, sir.” Yuuri could only muster a small voice in reply.

From where Yuuri was standing, he could’ve sworn he saw stern green eyes standing by the doorway during the whole debacle.

It only served to place more unease in himself.

“Ok, since that’s settled, everyone back to positions! We’ll go over the opening scene until you all get it right. I expect to see improvements and less mistakes.” Yuuri was sure the last few words were directed at him.

It stung.

* * *

It was after several repetitions of the same routine that everyone was finally given a break, bodies fatigued by the numerous jumps and spins they made along with the steps and formations they all had to perfect accordingly.

However, it was obvious to anyone within the room that a certain person was holding them back, trapping everyone in the endless loop of the opening sequence until each and every dancer danced with hardly any mistakes.

Yuuri knew that that certain someone was him.

It was fairly obvious with the glares he has been receiving from Yuri Plisetsky, the teen having been with the Bolshoi ever since he learned how to do a plié. The gifted teen probably saw Yuuri’s slip ups as the now worst possible thing he’d ever see a danseur do.

As Yuuri stood up from stretching his sore muscles on the floor, his eyes searched for his best friend within the room. His eyes looked for dark hair and tanned skin. To Yuuri’s dismay he unwittingly met gazes with Yuri Plisetsky. Green eyes narrowed sharply at him, face twisting in disgust as he scoffed at Yuuri’s dumbfounded expression. Before Yuuri could even say a word, he slung his towel over his shoulder before sauntering out of the room with a loud slam of the door.

Yuuri could only flinch.

As Yuuri watched everyone slowly file out of the room, he felt a steady hand place itself on his shoulder, warm and familiar.

“Yuuri, don’t worry. I’m sure you’ll get the hang of it. I’ve seen you practice the choreography on your own, you did really well.” Phichit always seemed to arrive just in time for Yuuri’s breakdowns.

“Yeah, Yuuri. Just don’t feel too pressured!” Leo cheerily quipped. His brown hair was tied in a half ponytail that bounced as much as he did. “Just keep calm, maybe listen to a little bit of music while you’re at it!”

“I don’t even know how you manage to still dance Yuuri…I mean it’s _the_ Viktor Nikiforov who’s watching. I’d probably mess up big time. I mean imagine if you slipped during the performance! Viktor would probably never forget it. It would be a disaster. I don’t know if I could still dance after that.” Guang hong shyly added. “I’d quit the company altogether.”

Guang Hong’s words did nothing but worsen Yuuri’s already downtrodden feelings. Yuuri could only look sadly at the ground, trying to smile amidst his distress.

“Oh—Ah! Sorry. I didn’t really mean any of that!” Guang Hong’s hands waved around in an attempt to take back the damage he caused. “And Yuuri, you’re doing your best anyway!”

“Don’t worry about what Guang hong said. Everyone knows you’ve been doing your part in all this. Hell, even I know that everyone was nervous earlier especially with Viktor around.” Leo stepped beside Yuuri, his words trying to reassure Yuuri as much as they can.

“Yeah, what Leo said!” Guang Hong smiled brightly at Yuuri. This time he stopped himself from making any other unnecessary quips.

“You know you can do it, Yuuri. It’s already _in_ you.” Phichit’s arm moved to wrap around his shoulders. “Just stay calm and be confident!”

His friends’ words served to comfort him a bit, giving Yuuri a little bit of a boost in his mood. Deep down, however, he knew that what Guang Hong said rang true even for him. He couldn’t stand the thought of messing up Viktor’s first production and most of all, his first debut in a main role. A lot of things were riding on his performance and rehearsals.

He knew at any moment he could be replaced in just a simple snap.

“I’ll work harder you guys.”

* * *

“All right! That’s a wrap. Same thing tomorrow everyone. I expect that we’ll finish polishing that first sequence thoroughly by the next few days. Rest up and have a nice night!”

To Yuuri’s relief, rehearsals for the day had finally ended. He let out a deep sigh as he moved to gather his bags, muscles tired from every movement he performed since early this morning. As he knelt down, he could feel his body move slowly, exhaustion weighing down his every muscle.

“Yuuri!” A bright voice called.

Yuuri turned around and was greeted by the sight of his main partner for the ballet.

“Mila?” Yuuri blinked. Mila didn’t usually talk to him after rehearsals. She was the type to immediately head out and get ready for a date.

_“_ _Who is it this time, Mila?” Mila was already out the door as soon as rehearsals were over._  
  
_“I’ll introduce you guys next time!” Mila winked._

_“I thought you were going out with that figure skater?”_

_“Oh that guy? He’s old news. I already dumped him a week ago.”_

_“Whoa, really?”_

_“Anyways, see you guys tomorrow! I have a train to catch.”_

It was a usual routine that everyone expected from her, a routine that has just been broken. Admittedly, Yuuri wouldn’t even consider himself close to Mila. In fact, this would be the first time they had paired up together.

It was to be expected.

“What is it?”

“I just wanted to ask if you’re free later. I just wanted to talk about—“

“Yuuri!” Viktor’s voice suddenly sounded from the door.

“U-uhm, yes?”

“Please come to my office once you’ve freshened up. I have something _important_ I’d like to discuss.” Yuuri looked at Viktor warily before the former left. The way Viktor spoke had sent a sharp chill running down Yuuri’s spine, allowing a feeling of dread to descend upon Yuuri all at once, the effect of Viktor’s words amplified by nerves that were already there when Mila first approached him.

There’s no doubt that they probably existed earlier this day as well.

“Don’t worry, Yuuri. I’ll just wait for you guys to finish up.” Mila chirped as she made her way to the doors. “I’ll just stay by the café right around the block. I’ll see you later!”

“Okay. See you later.” Yuuri awkwardly replied as Mila went right out the door, leaving Yuuri alone in the rehearsal studio with only himself as company.

Yuuri took a deep breath before gathering his things, mentally preparing himself for his and Viktor’s _discussion_.

With each step he took towards Viktor’s office, he took a breath, trying to calm himself as he paced down the empty hall, his footsteps echoing loudly in the silence.

It was rare for any dancer to be called personally by the choreographer and much less the main hand in the production of the ballet.

Yuuri could already feel it in his gut.

‘This can’t be a good thing.’

Taking one last deep breath, Yuuri knocked a few times on Viktor’s door with hesitant, light taps.

“Come in.” Viktor’s deep voice called from inside.

Bracing himself, Yuuri stepped into Viktor’s office.

It was pristine. Books with titles pertaining to dance, ballet and even classic literature were placed neatly on the shelf adjacent to Viktor’s desk. On Viktor’s desk sat a picture frame encasing a simple picture of the choreographer himself and his famed poodle. It was a stark contrast to the professional aura of the room. On top of the shelves rested several plaques, statuettes and trophies, polished to a shine even as they collected dust. The very sight of them made Yuuri gasp in awe at the sheer number of them. The light illuminating the room was a nice fluorescent white, shining on everything inside.

‘Wow…the Benois de la Danse.’ Yuuri thought to himself.

Viktor sat on his chair as he watched Yuuri enter and study the room, his sea blue eyes following Yuuri as he moved.

“G-good evening, Viktor.” Yuuri greeted as he stood awkwardly in front of his desk.

‘Focus, Yuuri! Don’t embarrass yourself even more.’

“Hello, Yuuri. Why don’t you sit down here for a bit while we chat?” Viktor greeted him back. His tone felt ominous, a tinge of a certain darkness mingling within Viktor’s words. Yuuri could almost feel an intense scolding, blunt criticism ready to pierce right through him hiding behind Viktor’s eyes as he sat. Viktor’s eyes were the same as they were during Yuuri’s audition, piercing, calculating, as if waiting for the right moment to _strike_.

“Yuuri, do you have any idea why I asked you for a talk?” Viktor asked, resting his chin on his hands in an act of nonchalance.

‘What should I say? Should I just get to it? Would he get angry at me if I gave an answer?’ Yuuri fretted in his mind, thoughts meshing together, ideas too convoluted for him to create a coherent answer. 

Yuuri only sat in silence as an answer, twiddling his thumbs as he looked down, continuously getting frustrated with himself for not being able to muster even a simple sound.

“I think you know exactly why you’re here, Yuuri. You don’t have to be shy. You can just outright say it. We’re colleagues after all.”

“It was because of the rehearsals.” Yuuri answered him nervously.

“What exactly about the rehearsals, Yuuri?” Viktor’s tone remained even. Yuuri could feel his own voice was on the verge of breaking.

“I...I haven’t been dancing well.”

“Yes, you have danced very horribly. As if you had never trained with the Bolshoi at all.” Viktor’s spoke bluntly. “Your arms were stiff, feet out of position and _more than a few_ slips pretty much tells me that you aren’t fit to be dancing. It makes me wonder how exactly I decided to cast you into such an important role. Or are you purposely messing this up, Yuuri?”

Yuuri felt the tears coming but with a deep breath he collected himself. This wouldn’t be the first time his dancing would be criticized. This was one of the many times Yuuri had to endure. He had to soldier on. He can’t let his choreographer’s criticism get to him, not when he has made it this far.

“I’m not, Viktor. I—“

“Indeed, you’re not. However, this is not exactly why I’m asking you here tonight.” Viktor rested his chin on the palm of his hand, staring straight into Yuuri’s soul. “I asked you here to tell me whether or not you think you can still take on this role.”

“I...Viktor. I-It’s just—“

“Just what, Yuuri?” Viktor cut Yuuri off before he could finish. His words weren’t sharp. You could even say they soft. They were a calm, clean cut over Yuuri’s fretting. Yuuri was sure that Viktor could feel the anxiety rolling off him in waves.

Yuuri could only stare back into Viktor’s eyes, tears steadily gathering at the corners of his eyes as he willed his mind to think of an answer.

Viktor smiled sadly at Yuuri before he moved around his desk and sat right across Yuuri on the other chair.

“Yuuri, I’ve seen you dance. Your dancing was specifically chosen in order to mold together with the choreography. To be honest, it was from your dancing that I was inspired to choreograph Eros into what it is. I know that you’re capable of becoming Eros.”

‘Viktor, I’m not… I’m already bursting at the seams. I can’t possibly be the right person for this.’ Yuuri kept his thoughts to himself as Viktor continued to speak.

“I know you can do it. You danced perfectly when you were learning the choreography. Just bring out that confidence you have.” Viktor smiled comfortingly at Yuuri.

‘I can’t do it. Don’t trust me too much. I’ll ruin everything.’

“Trust in my judgment, Yuuri. Even if you have Leroy as an understudy, no one else can be Eros except you.”

‘I can’t be Eros. Eros isn’t me.’

“However, even if I trust in you, Madame Baranovskaya doesn’t think the same way I do.” Viktor’s expression returned to stoic, his demeanor shifting to a more serious disposition. It was as if Yuuri could see the gears in his head turn as he put his mind into work. “Lilia gave us or to be more specific, _you_ , three days to prove to her and to everyone you can do it.”

‘What if I can’t…?’

“Yuuri, whatever you decide to do. I know you can do it and I won’t hold any grudges with it.”

‘I…don’t know. I don’t know.’

Viktor took Yuuri’s hand in his, warmth radiated from his palm to Yuuri’s.

Yuuri’s hands still felt devastatingly cold.

“Just show us that you want to dance.”

* * *

The crisp late September air breezed through the streets of St. Peterburg as Yuuri stepped out of the building, burying his nose in his scarf. Before he could forget, Yuuri started to make his way around the block, hoping that his talk with Mila would just be short. He really wanted to return home as soon as he can, hide under his blanket with Vicchan as he allowed the tears he had kept to overflow.

His thoughts still mulled over Viktor’s words as he walked. It made him feel somewhat sick to know that Viktor was too willing, too _trusting,_ to place his production’s fate in his hands.

Looking at it objectively, it was Yuuri’s first time in a major role. He was heavily inconsistent. He was nervous to boot and had no confidence to bring to the fray.

He had every reason to be booted off the role and be recasted.

At this point, Yuuri had every reason to believe that Viktor was a madman. How could he place such an inexperienced danseur as _Javier, the embodiment of Eros himself_ for his most important production? It was absolute nonsense.

There was no way he could do it.

But that _sickening_ part of Yuuri believed that he can.

It kept repeating at the back of his mind: “No one deserved it more than you and I.”

It swirled around his thoughts, tainting Yuuri’s mind with a pride that was nothing but a precursor to his downfall. It was an envious part of himself, far too arrogant, pompous, and greedy, clawing at the edges of his mind as it willed itself to exist on the outside, wanting to just let everyone know how much better he is than what they think. How _lowly_ they are compared to him.

It was a part of Yuuri that he wishes he could eradicate with no trace.

“Yuuri!”

Yuuri broke out of his daze as looked ahead to see Mila with Sara standing by her side, fingers interlocked as they swung their hands lightly in the chilly autumn air.

Sara whispered to Mila, her amethyst eyes glancing at Yuuri as he approached. With a small giggle, she waved at Yuuri before pressing a kiss against Mila’s cheek and making her way home.

“So…Yuuri, how did things go with Viktor? I hope he wasn’t too hard on you.” Mila kept her tone light, as if treading carefully around Yuuri.

“It was…what it was I guess. I knew I had it coming though.” Yuuri put on a wry smile.

He can’t deny the fact that he’d been underperforming this whole time. He was hanging on by a thread, a thin string ready to be cut at any moment, the whole image weighing down his shoulders as he tried to piece together what’s left of his confidence shattered by the doubts the crawled forth from the edges of his mind and the harsh reality of his dancing.

Yuuri hoped that he would overcome this.

But Yuuri knew there was no way he would.

‘Why didn’t I just turn down the role?’ Yuuri was frustrated, torn by what he wanted and his vision of what should be. ‘Wanting to dance Eros is just not enough…’

He knew what he was bringing onto the table wasn’t enough.

Yet Yuuri just didn’t know what possessed him to say those three powerful little words: “I will try.”

“Oh Yuuri. It’ll be fine…” Mila wrapped her arm around Yuuri’s shoulder, her warmth bled through her clothes as it tried to ease Yuuri’s emotions.

“I hope so.” The words tumbled clumsily from Yuuri’s mouth as he stared on the ground.

“And besides Yuuri, if you don’t really feel up to it, you can always back out. JJ or even Sara can always fill in for you! I’m sure they’ll be fine.” Mila’s voice sounded was uncomfortably light, the cold hard truth of her words poured over Yuuri’s entire mind.

Mila’s words were a stark contrast to Viktor’s.

They were at opposite ends of the spectrum.

One desperately wants him to star in _Eros_.

The other seemed to be okay whether or not he was there.

One only saw him dance recently.

The other saw him dance everyday ever since he started at the Bolshoi.

One believed in him.

The other didn’t.

It was undeniable what they made Yuuri feel.

At the drop of Mila’s words, tears flooded down Yuuri’s face. In Mila’s shock, she couldn’t hold back her gasp. She immediately scrambled to pull out a handkerchief to wipe Yuuri’s tears, asking Yuuri if he was okay and telling him that everything will be fine.

Mila’s words fell on deaf ears.

All Yuuri could hear were the thoughts screaming at him in his mind: “See? You were never fit for it in the first place.”, “Viktor _is_ a player, he probably just said that to get into your pants.”, “Like he’d ever like your dancing.”, “You can be easily replaced. Good thing Mila reminded you of that right?”

“Yuuri, Yuuri…I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean it that way. Yuuri, please tell me what’s wrong.” Mila steadily wiped Yuuri’s tears from his face, worry and regret etched in her features as she studied Yuuri’s face.

“N-no, I’m okay.”

“What is it, Yuuri? It’s okay, just let it out.” Mila moved her hands to Yuuri’s back trying to calm down the sobs threatening to come out of Yuuri’s mouth.

‘Mila. You don’t have to comfort me because of this.’

“Yuuri—“

‘It’s something small…I’m overreacting.’

“Yuuri, hey it’s –“

“NO!” Yuuri shouted without thinking, shoving Mila away as he did so, startling Mila from the sudden display.

There was a pregnant pause.

Yuuri immediately regretted what he had just done, slowly looking up as he was greeted by the sight of Mila’s shocked face.

With regret and shame burning in his stomach, Yuuri apologized with a small voice before turning on his heel and bidding Mila goodbye.

As Yuuri determinedly ventured far from the scene, he could hear the faint tapping of shoes echoing, mimicking his footsteps.

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos and Comments are appreciated!


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